


Three Buffy Drabbles

by stellar_dust



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Collection, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-01
Updated: 2005-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellar_dust/pseuds/stellar_dust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three drabbles I wrote in response to requests from my flist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Buffy Drabbles

dreamsquirrel asked for (any member of the Scooby gang other than Buffy)/Angel.

Legacy

Angel remembered when Oz had stopped in L.A., rough-edged and wild-eyed and heartbroken; Cordy had given him a room for a few days until the combined sting of Willow's new lifestyle and the failure of his miracle cure would start to fade a little. And how late one night when Angel was alone in his office he'd looked up from the Portuguese sonnets to see Oz framed in the doorway, his usually impassive face twisted and wet, panting out: "I have to know."

The next few moments were a blur, Oz leaping over his desk in a bound more wolf than man, then lips clamped fiercely to his, crushing, biting, sharp claws raking his scalp, and Christ, if Oz had given him a second of *warning* it could have been so much-

But Oz had pulled back, shaken himself, and a forlorn beaten-puppy look crossed his features briefly before settling into the mask of mild and steely amusement. A wry nod and he was gone before Angel could speak; in the morning his room was cold and empty.

Angel rolled over onto his arm, brushing a lock of blonde hair from Nina's sleeping face. He smiled, and remembered, and wondered.

********************************

somuchbraver asked for Spike/Anya.

Smashing

Five hundred ten, five hundred twenty, five- Anya froze; she felt a presence looming behind her. Shame Buffy hated her, did wonders for looming presences-

"I'm no good for her. Vice versa too."

Oh. An annoying presence. "Everyone knows that. Go away, Spike. You made me lose count."

His breath was in her ear. "Five hundred seventy. It was never a pity fuck, demon girl."

Anya straightened, shifted in her chair, gathering the money. "Took you long enough."

"Shall we have another go, then?"

"Yes. Let's have sex now and as often as possible in the future."

"Good."

"Good."

"Smashing."

********************************

melannen asked for Spike&amp;Buffy&amp;Poetry.

Indulge Me

That first day after workshop, Spike had stood looking unforgivably at home with his purple hair and (sexy) glasses and brown leather jacket in that severely ancient Roman hallway, and hesitatingly asked if she fancied studying.

And here they were again weeks later; she had to admit it was mostly okay, he even seemed pretty good at this poetry stuff, which- Spike? Poems? Just, no-

In fact- she squinted disapprovingly at her sonnet about life with Dawn. "Spike," she hissed, kicking his leg, "what rhymes with 'indulgent'?"

He started, eyes gleaming on hers with old familiar self-loathing amusement:

"*Fuck* me."

**Author's Note:**

> The last drabble follows from a ficlet melannen wrote in which Buffy and Spike run into each other in a poetry class in Rome post-series.


End file.
